


A Moon of Mithril

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Khazâd November, Mental Health Issues, Origin Myths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Young Thrór asks his mother about the moon and she tells him the ancient story of its creation.Thorin asks his grandfather where he has been and he tells him his newest plan.





	A Moon of Mithril

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 5 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompts were "childhood" and "moon".  
> 

“Amad, is the moon made of goat cheese?” Thrór asked, taking another bite from his bread with cheese as he looked up at the full moon. 

His mother laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. “No, my little badger. It is much better than that. Does your goat cheese shine like that?”

Thrór looked down at his bread and shook his head. “No.”

“Look around. Maybe you can figure out what does shine that way.”

Thrór looked out from the balcony that was built in such a way that it gave a good view across the Grey Mountains. There was not much in the dark landscape that could shimmer that way. Maybe the water of the distant river, but that had the moon hanging in it upside down and Thrór decided that probably didn’t count. He looked around the balcony and his eyes caught on the ring on his mother’s hand. She saw where he was looking and smiled at him.

“Your ring!”

“That’s right, my clever little badger, mithril like in my ring shines just the way the moon does. Do you know why?”

Again, Thrór shook his head.

“A long, long time ago, one of Mahal’s friends asked him for help. She wanted to start a great work of art, but her eyes weren’t as good as ours are, so she needed more light that that of the stars, which were the only lights in the sky in those days. When Mahal heard of her problem, he decided that it would be the perfect project for the dwarves, who were still new in the world at the time, to show everyone their great skill.  
“Just on that day, Durin had found a great vein of mithril deep in the mountains. In many days of hard work, the dwarves mined it and brought it to the surface, where the mithril shone in the starlight like diamonds. But their great work had just begun. The dwarves expanded their forges and lit many fires. Their hammers rang day and night. Only when they had worked for seven weeks was their masterpiece complete.  
“And what a masterpiece it was. It sparkled in a million rays if a single candle was brought close, for the dwarves had fashioned it into hundreds of beautiful mirrors with intricate decorations that reflected the light a hundredfold. A large family of fireflies moved into it when they saw that their craft would light the entire world from inside this sparkling globe. As soon as they entered it, the light became so bright the dwarves had to cover their eyes. Now all that was needed was something to hang the moon from.  
“Mahal asked if there was a dwarf that would climb up the highest mountain and attach a rope from which the moon could hang in the sky. Now, at that time, the mountains were higher than you could imagine, much higher than Zirakzigil, Barazinbar or Bundushathûr. The dwarves looked at each other, for they much desired to please their maker, but dwarves have always been a sensible people and they knew this task was impossible. Mahal, seeing their hesitation, asked them what the problem was and they explained that it could not be done.  
“So Mahal turned to his wife, the Green Lady. She was reluctant to help him, for her craft is that of the things that grow, not of those that can be made with hands. But when she saw this sparkling lantern, her heart was moved and she asked her trees if one of them would bear it into the sky. Her trees shook their branches, explaining that the light was too bright and would burn them. From the moving branches, a great number of moths were startled and they left the forest, flying towards the light. ‘Will you bear the lantern into the sky?’ Mahal asked them. To his wonder, they agreed. ‘We will,’ they replied, ‘as long as we never have to leave this great light.’  
“So dwarven weavers tied the moon to the moths with seven thousand silver strings, which is in itself a great work, as you will know if you have ever tried to get a single moth to sit still. And when this work was completed, the moon rose for the first time, lighting the woods and the mountains. Higher and higher the moths rose, following a path only they had knowledge of, and showing the world the skill of dwarven craftsmen.  
“And that, my little badger, is why the moon shines like mithril.”

Thrór looked up at the moon with renewed wonder. “And the moths have been flying around ever since?”

“They have, since the days of the first dwarves. But I think you have fluttered about quite enough for today, my little one. It is time for you to go to bed and if you do so without complaining, we can go and look at the fireflies tomorrow, ones that look just like the ones lighting up the moon.”

For once, Thrór went to bed with almost no grumbling at all. That night, he dreamt of sparkling mithril growing into a beautiful work of art under the hammers of the early dwarves. He had just stretched out a hand to touch it when it sprouted thousands of silvery wings and flew away.

 

Thorin was relieved when he found his grandfather on the battlements rather than the treasury for once. 

“Siginadad, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Thorin, my boy. I’m glad you’ve come. I have an amazing plan I want to tell you about.” Thrór watched him, enthusiasm shining in his eyes.

Thorin smiled at him. He knew his grandfather’s plans only too well by now. Half of them never amounted to anything and left Thrór off-kilter and upset for weeks. Those that his grandfather did manage to drag into reality tended to have disastrous consequences. But even the dread pooling in his stomach could not bring him to spoil his grandfather’s rare happiness, not yet. 

“What are you making plans for?”

Thrór extended an arm and pointed at the moon.

“What about the moon?” Thorin asked.

“When I decided to leave the Grey Mountains, I had a choice to make, just like you will have hard choices to make when you one day become king. Should I go to Khazad-dûm, or should I return to the Lonely Mountain. I never regretted the choice I made, except for one thing: mithril.”

“Perhaps, but what does the moon have to do with mithril?” Thorin realised the answer the moment the question left his mouth. He did not like where this was going. 

“It is made of mithril, of course. I thought I had invested well in your education?” Thrór replied, shaking his head.

“You did. But that is only an old children’s story, one that the old wives tell to dwarflings who ask too many questions.” Thorin had loved that story as a dwarfling, but for the sake of the kingdom, it was best to stick with facts. 

“There is truth in every story,” Thrór insisted. 

“There are not enough moons above middle-earth for that. The elves tell a different story about how the moon came to be, and the men of Dale have a different tale than the men from Rohan. None of them involves mithril.”

Thrór laughed. “That is because the dwarves have always been the wisest of all the peoples of middle-earth. We created it and we would have been foolish to tell the story of the moon’s creation to others. It was more than was necessary to even share the light of the moon with the others for this long.”

“Well, let’s just assume that the old story is true and the moon is made of mithril. What would that mean for our daily lives, for our kingdom?”

“It is ours! Dwarves created it, so dwarves should own it!” Thrór’s good mood was suddenly over, rage taking over his voice.

“The moon is high up in the sky, what do you intend to do? Impose a tax on moonlight?” Thorin winced. He knew better than to say things around his grandfather that could be taken as a suggestion. He could not see a tax on moonlight going down well with the elves, especially not after that disastrous disagreement about the necklace. 

“Of course not, that would be absurd,” Thrór snorted and Thorin allowed himself half a breath of relief. “None of those dishonest thieves would pay it anyway. No, we will take back the moon.”

“We will take back the moon?” Thorin was honestly perplexed. This sounded even worse than he had expected. “How do you plan on doing that?”

Thrór waved an impatient hand. “Oh, I’m still working on the specifics. We still have a good supply of ropes in the storerooms, I checked. Perhaps we could connect it into a contraption that we could use in order to pull down the moon. We would have to make sure the moon doesn’t crash, of course, you know how I hate for a work of art to be damaged. If that proves impossible, we could figure out something with the moths.”

“The moths?”

“Yes, the moths that are pulling the moon. You know I’ve never been too fond of the fluttering little pests and I’m sure we could come up with something. I think sending up a few catapult loads of that nifty powder Garvi invented would do the job quite nicely, though again, we need to figure out a dosage that won’t make them crash the moon too violently.”

Thorin paled. The first version would be doomed to fail and would cause Thrór to become despondent and possibly volatile. Thorin hated seeing Thrór’s disappointment when his plans failed, but flinging loads of poison around was taking things to new levels.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Siginadad,” Thorin said carefully. “We might poison the landscape and water if we do that.”

“Pah! Garvi’s powder isn’t poison, it just kills the moths. We dwarves are not moths, nothing like moths at all. And if a few of those Lake-men or people for Dale die, what is it to us?”

“They are our allies, Siginadad! And even if you may not care about their lives, we eat the food that grows on their fields, the fish they catch out of the very water you are considering to poison. The powder might contaminate the water we drink as well, and I don’t think it is a good idea to risk it even if you think the powder that is made for killing things might not kill dwarves.”

Thrór looked at the moon for a long time before turning back to Thorin. “If you are done shouting at me, you can get the master engineers, master net weavers, Garvi and why don’t you ask a few expert trappers to join me as well. You know better than me who the best people to ask are.”

Thorin stared at him. “You want me to leave?”

“Well, you obviously aren’t intending to contribute anything constructive to my plans, so you might as well make yourself useful in other ways.”

Thorin turned and left Thrór to stare at the moon. He wondered what he should first: alert his father to the king’s newest scheme, or send for people who would either dissuade Thrór from his plans or cause them to fail. Either way, he would have to prevent these disastrous plans.


End file.
